Notes: Initially this began as a response to a prompt on the Supernatural Kink Meme... then it got stuck in my head and morphed into something else (as my stories usually do). The initial prompt was that priest!Dean takes advantage of choirboy!Castiel.
Clearly my muse decided that it should be the other way around.
Warnings: Paedophilia – 12 year old boy/30+ years old man. If this squicks you, "consensual" or not, just hit the back button right now.
He Damned Himself (and then He Damned Everyone)
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It's in the aftermath that Dean begins to think that maybe he's going to hell.
Of course he'd known it was wrong. Intellectually, he'd known, without any doubts or questions, that what he was doing was wrong. Could get him excommunicated. But the lure of those lips, the beautiful spark in those eyes when the boy smiled just for him, had blinded him to the consequences.
He'd said 'damn it' and damned himself.
Dean had been a practicing priest for only four years before he ever saw the boy - Castiel, a newcomer named (so appropriately) after an angel, coming to church for the first time with parents who had just moved from up north. Castiel was twelve at the time, solemn, and Dean had been hard pressed to keep his eyes off the boy while greeting the parents. Dean had spoken briefly about the history of the church, and then about the youth activities they offered. Casual, careful not to let on just how interested he would be in seeing the boy join the youth group or the basketball league.
Six months later Castiel joined the choir and Dean got the feeling that someone, somewhere was testing him.
Castiel looked like the angel of his namesake in the plain white robes that formed the choir uniform. His voice was lower than most boys his age, hinting that either his voice had broken early or that he would one day possess the kind of bone-shaking baritone that could make women melt at twenty paces. Castiel sang with perfect pitch and intonation, easily the best singer out of the sixteen other boys who made up the small choir.
He always sang looking straight at Dean, at the priest's face and not the lyric book.
Dean encouraged it. He told himself it was innocent, that he smiled and winked at the boy because it was encouragement, because he wanted Castiel to know that Dean had noticed how well he sang. It was less easy to pass off the subtle touches to the boy's shoulder and back as he passed by. And even less so when Castiel started staying back a few minutes after every practice - not to talk, not to touch, just to smile at him and stare at Dean with those too-knowing eyes.
As if he knew Dean's secret. As if he were saying it was ok.
Dean had only been a practicing priest for four and a half years when he said 'damn it' and threw it all away. When he consciously waited for the other boys to leave after choir practice on Saturday and approached the boy for the first time. Dean had leaned down, a hand cupping the boy's face, and pressed his lips against Castiel's. His first kiss since he had entered the seminary and it was with a twelve year old boy.
But Castiel hadn't pulled away. He had let Dean kiss him and smiled afterwards. And for a few days afterwards Dean had almost expected to receive an angry phone call - from the boy's parents, from the cardinal, from someone.
When nothing happened it was just that much easier to kiss the boy again. To slide his hand up under that choirboy uniform and touch him, petting through Castiel's clothes until the boy's face was flushed red, lips pink and wet and open as he panted softly against Dean's chest.
Dean didn't think too much about it after that, except in anticipation. He imagined the boy feeling the same way, saw the flash of something heated in Castiel's eyes when he sang with eyes still trained firmly on the priest's face. Dean touched himself thinking about the boy, imagining Castiel's body beneath his or the boy's beautiful lips stretched tight around his cock. He prayed less and less, and always forgot to ask for forgiveness.
The next Saturday that came Dean waited for the other boys to leave. He waited for Castiel to give him that secretive smile before he pulled the boy into his office. And this time his hands made their way under Castiel's clothes. He touched the boy's skin, kissed his mouth until it was swollen and red, wrapped his hand around the boy's cock and fondled him until the boy spurted hot and wet against Dean's hand.
He drove to the next town over to buy lube, dressed in the jeans and a t-shirt he hadn't worn for years. He put it in his desk drawer and told himself that he didn't ever have to use it. That it was there just in case, that he wouldn't take advantage...
Saturday after practice, his cock wrapped in the tight, hot heat of Castiel's body, the boy bent down over Dean's desk, the priest would admit to a silent inevitability.
Now he sits back in his chair, pants still open and stained with semen - his and the boy's - and realises what has been lost here. "I'm sorry," Dean says, broken and wrecked as he raises both hands to cover his face. "I'm so sorry. God - please forgive me."
"It's too late for apologies, Dean."
The priest looks through the cracks in his fingers to watch as Castiel buttons up his crisp white shirt again. For a moment it doesn't quite register that the boy had spoken. "What?"
Castiel turns and smiles at him, looking just as angelic as ever. "Dean, please. You just fucked a twelve year old in a church, it's a little late for pathos." Then boy reaches up and pries Dean's hands away from his face. Leans in and kisses Dean's lips. "Yes, Dean," he says calmly. "You're going to hell now. And if anyone finds out you'll be excommunicated and jailed."
"Oh Christ." Dean chokes, staring at the boy's face.
The boy just keeps smiling, nimble fingers tucking Dean back into his pants and doing up the fly. "But if you love me you won't tell anyone. You won't go crying to the authorities like a whiny little baby. You'll pack up your things, and come with me, and we'll go far, far away to a place where you can do whatever you want. I'll be twelve for you forever," Castiel says, and for just a moment Dean would swear that the boy's eyes snap to an inky black. "There's just one, tiny little catch..."
Strangely numb, Dean stares at the boy. "What's that?"
"You go to Hell when you die," Castiel tells him, taking one of Dean's hands in his own and leaning close until their lips are almost touching, "and when you get there... you say 'yes'." When Castiel pulls away again he looks sweet and young, and terrified that Dean is going to say no. "Please, father?"
This time he said it aloud. "Damn it." Dean leaned forward and kissed the boy. And damned himself.
